The Prince in Exile

Chapter 4

"Are the rooms to your liking, my lady?" asked the prince. For the first time, she caught his gaze as it flickered down to the sheer chemise–and what it covered. Wolfish greed in that look, tempered by something more refined. His was not a crude desire, at least not wholly.

"They are wonderful, Your Highness," she answered. With shock and some disgust, she found her body responding to his attention–no doubt owed to the wine, made all the more potent by her exhaustion. "I was just making ready to sleep when you arrived," she said with some force. "Did you need something from me?"

His gaze had returned to her face as she spoke, but even the way he marked her lips had her fighting against herself. Something in his bearing, his nearness, disquieted her; he reminded her, so daring and self-assured, of when she had first met the young Benedek.

At the very instant of the comparison, his spell was broken. She had seen the weakness that hid beneath Benedek's false front, the darkness and the terror lurking beneath his allure. The prince was doubtless the same; every devil, no matter how charming, was but a mask for the child within.

"Ah, well," he said, giving a wry smile, but she saw now just how farcical the whole encounter was. "Need? No. I came only to... see that you were comfortable. A late welcome, you might say."

"Oh, how kind," she replied pleasantly. Already the warmth was receding, draining away through the hole where her heart had been. "I am quite comfortable here, thank you. These accommodations alone are far too gracious of you–I would ask for nothing more."

"Are you certain? It would be my pleasure–"

She tipped up her glass, drinking the last with an air of casual conclusion. "Truly, Your Highness," she said after swallowing, "I appreciate the offer, but I want for nothing this night–save for a peaceful slumber."

He stared at her, and for the second time a crack showed in his demeanor. His eyes tightened, but not with anger. He bore not the look of a jilted suitor; no, he looked like a court mathematician, whose numbers had led him unexpectedly astray. What he had thought to be his domain had shifted beneath his feet; what he had seen as a pet had pecked his hand and flown the cage.

"Certainly, my lady," he eventually said. His tone carried no affront; the cracks had been swiftly painted over. "I will not delay your rest any longer." He finished his wine in a quick gulp, then held out his hand to her glass. She passed it to him with a smile, and now he looked upon her with nothing but courteous propriety. He inclined his head then turned from her, returning the glasses to their table, then made straight for the door, pushing it open before swiveling to look upon her again. There was nothing wolfish in his face; now something higher gleamed in his eyes, an intrigue, a human recognition. He was beginning to understand that he would never seize her, would never own her as a bauble, but that he might yet persuade her to stand beside him.

After a pair of heartbeats he was gone, the door shut in his place. Erzsebet let out a long breath, then turned towards the bedroom. This time it had been no lie: she was truly exhausted. She quickly performed her nightly ablutions, snuffed the candles and slid beneath the covers; the mattress was heavenly, the warmth and weight of the blankets divine.

She was clean, warm, and comfortable; she was well-fed and well-guarded; she had ably handled both the prince and his betrothed, laid solid grounds for her path forward. By all accounts, the night had gone as well as she could hope...

And yet she lay restless in the dark, an unyielding ache in her chest, a cringe and clench that she could not loosen. Her thoughts whirled, vicious fancies consuming her imagination. Her siblings captured crossing the Duna and brought before the palatine, made to watch their parents suffer all manner of degradation. Ilona forced to wed the younger Benedek–or, no, even worse, the palatine himself! Absurdity was no deterrent; she was caught in a storm of misery that cared nothing for reality. She had won a measure of peace, and her treacherous mind would not allow it.